Diacridic
He lays
While the leaves sit underneath
the brilliance of sincerities tree,

and thinking to you
were all the things done by.

As it were
Discriptless
Pages left turned and inkless
What's left behind inside
the minds of an intertwining summer
a conclusion predesignated.

I saw to you,
just as I waved hello to goodnight’s moon.
As they touched along the surfaces
fleeting into the skin
A welcomed wound.

And didn’t you know,
That the pictures I stole
Of every point of you
Were etching onto sheets of heaven
into the reflections of the mirrors
that sit before your bedside.

While it rests
with mixed spirits,
the roses that I bore

Passing through glowing bodies
are the images you started to dream with me
while the silences burrow

A judgement left only partially bridged.
Melded with the manifestation of adoptions quest

And as the calls ring in secluce,
I still feel that this alley is ghostless
Lest this vase breathe the life
of unwilted flowers

where the flip sides meet
on the evenings tides
joined by charmed indifferences

in company with the character
of an old flame,
only tangible with
lights which lay ahead.

medleyed in to what's to be.
​

I grew up between bookends
with the holy word held between
one fell off the shelf with no amends
now the shelf is filled with words unseen

So I read of other options
now I question the thread
of these fairy tale adoptions
which have been so deeply embedded

Christian school, weekly church, prayers before bed
my childhood filled with these epic tales
of a guy who died and then rose from the dead
and if you don't believe, well, see you in hell

They are good stories, some even great
but that's all they really are
to live by them is to live a life castrate
burning bush and a man inside a whale, a little bizarre

I am not mad I grew up this way,
but now I live a life of questioning
of what's beyond the pearly gates
without all of the one sided lecturing

I have a dream of a house full of cats and more outside
there will be plenty of black ones and lots of kittens and all will be street cats
given a new chance at life.  And there will be adoptions and trap, neuter, return for the ferels
and a low cost spay and neuter clinic close by to everyone in need and I will be
surrounded by cats, little beautiful creatures living out there lives near me
and there will be a cat's house in Haifa, and children and their families will
comes and learn about these animals and how to take care of them and not abuse
and surrounded by cats and infused with education, people will learn to be
what they can be, gentle, good and kind to the voiceless little survivors

New, mirrored perspective.
I can feel it pulsing in my words.
In my stillness.
Pristine thoughts ~ Higher and glistening.
While the everyday folk wander outside,
I'm meekly wondering.   Wishing that -
Somewhere, somehow.
My two sides would coincide.
Now bereaved of options.
Respectively, bow your head.
Accept no more pleading adoptions.
Those abyssal sparks can stay dead.
We will only see ahead.

I’m called Madam Budget Cut, hard-edged Ms. Bludgeon ****,
Slashing each piece of the pie.
But still I the budget gut, both guns and butter cut,
Balance the budget or die!

I’ve a tax for tobacco, and (pols think I’m whacko),
I’m slashing their projects with knives.
No ribbons for cutting, no grants for abutting
Old properties owned by their wives.

I’ve cross-the-board fixes, I’ve “no ways” and “nixes”,
I’ve silly assumptions and worse.
I consolidate functions, ignore court injunctions
Protecting the power of the purse.

I’ve early-out options, I propose late adoptions
Of programs designed by the Feds.
I close institutions, slow down restitutions,
And limit the number of beds.

I fire those who sign up
The thousands who line up
For Medicaid, welfare and such.
I’ve April surprises, with merit pay prizes
For staff who don’t argue too much.

So go with my uppercut,
Knock out the sludge, and gut,
Budgets should never be shy.
So we’ll cut, snip and suture,
Then look toward the future,
And pray that the patient won’t die!

Is *** a drug, I say yes, is it bad I say no.
Be smart with it cause you know that to much makes you slow.
Even Tylenols bad if you like to abuse, so don't misuse what mother nature grows.
And yes 15 partners makes you a ***, its quality over quantity,
Maybe you can associate *** with a handshake, but I think it has to go deeper than skin.
I want it to mean something within
Two souls yearning to become one,
Not empty kisses, fake words, and meaningless pleasure.
But two people uniting in the most intense intimacy that two humans can experience.
Something you share with someone who you know more about than they know themselves, someone who you would give everything for in a moment, someone you hold in the center of your world.
Someone you love.
I also believe in Pro-life.
Just cause your a low life, doesn't mean the baby doesn't deserve a life.
If the ****** fits, wear it,
Better to be safe than a murderer.
And I know everyone says "well what about ****."
But with over 300,000 adoptions taking place in the U.S. every year,
Even if you didn't make a mistake, theres still an escape.
I know its sad, and my heart breaks for the woman who met that fate,
But the decision of a ***** isn't the fault of a baby.
As teenagers we feel immortal,
Nothings going to happen, nothing is really important, but it is.
We take pride in our failure, we laugh at authority,
We don't try intentionally.
But theres gonna be a day outside the 4 walls of the classroom.
When the ambitious will thrive, and the apathetic won't survive,
So treat this like its a joke
Treat this like its not important
Because with a 50 % failure rate
Unless you get off your lazy ***, and even attempt to pass, then what everyone thinks about us Lake Region kids,
Is true.